Me & Her

Her

A new Nurse, a young man, brings us Jell-O, which we both find disappointing. It's the one thing we can agree on, gulping down our second helping of green slime. Our Mother asks about playing chess or trivial pursuit, but the other me isn't in the mood for games. I am though, but do I get a look in? No. Just like three years ago, the other one always must be in control.

I remember when we were kids, barely six or seven, and we'd just been invited to a costume party. I wanted to go as a spider – I used to love the delicacy with which they killed and drained on their prey – but she wanted to be a Princess. Or a flower. Or just anything with frills and petals. Did I get a choice? In the end, I had to make my own decision. I can still picture the other mummy's and daddy's faces at the party when I took over. Their frowns of disproval because I knew things that they said I shouldn't have known.

We were stronger than other kids our age. I was anyway. She could have been, but she didn't realise her potential until it was too late. I'm talking about what happened three years ago of course. That was my fault. Mostly. I'm still hoping that everything is where I left it all those years ago. I hid all sorts under the floorboards when we moved to that house. After they promised us everything and took those liberties. Did those things... That's in the past, but it's part of our future, however much she tries to deny it.

Our Mother is sitting awake, reading a rather discoloured magazine. Even the bubble-gum writing has faded. The other me is making us stare at the blinds covering the windows. Boring. I'm bored. The shadow of that cop lingers outside our door, the rattles of the mess I made last night having died down. Get it? Died? Okay, okay tough crowd tonight. I can't believe it's taken them this long to put this place on security lock down. What I don't understand, what I never understood about them, was why they never locked us up from day one. Why they let things get so out of hand. Call it being on a budget, call it stupidity. What happened three years ago was their fault. The blood is on their hands, not mine. Sort of. It's hard trying to avoid the blame when I know I'm the one at fault here. Or at least I think I am. If I'm being honest with myself – and I rarely am – I don't remember what happened either. I only pretend to know things, like everyone else does. Fragments of memories linger, but not enough for me to figure out who I was before. Who I am supposed to be. See, what the other me doesn't grasp is that whatever I did or think I did, I did it for us. I had to protect us. Why else does she think I exist? I never would have awakened in her mind, in her genes, if she hadn't needed me. But she did. And like it or not, she still does. I can feel her mentality emptying of thoughts, like a crowd of city-goers diffusing off a bus. She settles, breathes out. 

After that, it doesn't take long for sleep to claim both our minds.